


By the Count of Three

by Lassroyale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassroyale/pseuds/Lassroyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say bad things happen in threes...ever the more if you are Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Count of Three

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a drabble for a four word prompt in a deancastiel Quick Fire Challenge. I've since forgotten what the words are.

There is a saying: _Bad things happen in three's._

Of course, many of the horrific things that had happened in Dean Winchester's life had extended well beyond the count of three. Lately, however, things seemed to have had reached a crescendo lending credence to the saying. Dean just wanted to know when this trilogy of damnation would be over. He just wanted to know when the third screw would be turned sealing him in a world of misery.

  
***

  
It started with Bobby.

He and Sammy had buried Bobby over a month ago and the wounds were still raw. It hadn't been the brutality of the demons or a creature that had taken the grizzled Hunter...hell, it hadn't even been the neglect of the angels. It had been the plain frailty of the human condition that took their dearest friend, stopping his heart so suddenly that nobody saw it coming.

Dean had pleaded with Tess to let this one slide but the Reaper had her job to do. Nothing would sway her. So he told Tess to go fuck herself and instead got dressed in his finest black suit to attend the funeral.

He hadn't cried throughout the whole ceremony. He hadn't cried when they began digging, his skin and clothing becoming anointed in earth, sweat, and sorrow. His tears were absent when Ellen broke down over the fresh grave, Bobby’s death bringing the tough Huntress to her knees when nothing else could.

Hunters weren’t supposed to die like that. They weren’t supposed to die of a heart attack. They were supposed to die with a gun in their hand and the smell of sulfur in their nostrils, fighting to protecting good people from bad things.

Bobby’s death was loss, a part of life, and Dean could acknowledge that.

It still stung like a bitch.

When the angel had come to him later as he sat on the hood of Impala with a half-drunk case of beer, the tears finally came. He had cursed at the angel and he cursed at his damn ineffable God through blurry, wet eyes, anger and sadness one in the same as he vented his grief. Castiel had said nothing, but instead gathered Dean in a hug he didn’t want and held him close. The angel had continued to hold him until the Hunter sagged against him and the fight ebbed out of his body.

His tears had continued to fall in a torrent of pent up grief and undirected rage, freely and without restraint. When finally Dean kissed him, murmuring an apology for his outburst, his lips were wet, salty, and lush. Castiel kissed him back knowing that he couldn’t take the sorrow from his heart, for in that regard he was limited.

Dean had pulled Cas down to the ground that night, out in the open beneath the stars. The wind was cool against the heat of their two bodies as they moved together at a frenzied, desperate pace. It was raw, messy, and provocative. Afterwards, Cas had kissed his throat and told him he was in love with Dean.

And Dean had said nothing.

  
***

  
Then Sammy left him, when he found out about his relationship with Castiel. His brother became enraged and shouted that Dean was sleeping “with the enemy”.

“The enemy, Sammy, really?” Dean had asked. Sam had only smiled a cruel, small smile that looked too natural upon his face. It made him into a stranger to Dean and for that he felt true regret.

“It’s them or us, Dean, and frankly, you’ve chosen the wrong horse.”

“When did Ruby get to ya, huh Sammy? When did you start believin’ that bitch and her lies?”

And Sam had blinked at that, a trace of his old self-flickering through his gaze giving Dean a dash of hope. Then that face he had known all of his life and loved all of his life, had twisted back into something that was a parody of the real Sam. Or perhaps it had been the real Sam all along and he had been too blind to see it.

“You’ll figure it out Dean; _she’s_ the one that’s been telling the truth.” With those words, Sammy had left, breezing through the door without a backwards glance.

When Castiel had come to him afterward, Dean had no words. He had no tears, either, but he had his anger.

They came together like crashing waves, sliding into one another, around one another, and through one another, until Dean wasn’t sure where or who he was anymore. He only knew the bliss of his orgasm as he clenched around Cas, his head thrown back and his blunt nails leaving deep, bloody gouges in the Angel’s back. It had been violent, but it had also been oh-so-good.

Afterwards Castiel again kissed him and told him he loved him.

And this time Dean said, “I know."

  
***

  
Now Dean waited for the third shoe to drop, so to speak. He knew something was coming; he could feel it in the air. It was like Death was peppering his arms and face with cold, malignant kisses.

It turned out he didn’t have to wait long at all.

As Dean held Castiel to him on the steps of the convent where Lucifer had risen, he began to understand what it truly meant to lose everything. He watched the blood froth between the angel’s lips in wet, sticky bubbles. He saw the light of his Grace begin to fade from those loving azure eyes, until they were clouded and dark. Dean suddenly understood what real loss was. He understood how it felt to have another sacrifice their life for his, and it was a terrible, haunting feeling.

Castiel had thrown himself before Lucifer’s might in Dean’s place because the angel could not bear to see the one he loved so dearly become nothing but a smear of crimson on ancient stone.

Dean buried his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck and whispered to him over and over. He continued to do so until he couldn’t feel the angel’s presence any longer. He continued to do so long after the vessel he held had grown stiff and cold.

This time he said, “I'll love you forever.”

They say bad things always come in three’s.

(The End.)


End file.
